


don't ask, i don't need a boyfriend

by echovault



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, also i have no fucking clue what I'm typing, angela in later chapters, angela is literally in love with darlene, everything is on drugs, tyrell in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echovault/pseuds/echovault
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>elliot. elliot. elliot.</p><p>i liked saying my name. three times, always. </p><p>elliot. elliot. elliot.</p><p>i liked when he said my name. three times, most of the time.</p><p>he made sure to say it when i fucked him, though. he kept me happy. </p><p>he kept me happy.</p><p> </p><p>--------</p><p>[[in which darlene is on hard drugs, elliot has been off the morphine, tyrell is a part-time dealer, angela never worked at all-safe. but she's really fucking into motorcycles. a mr. robot au where everything is upside down.]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i ain't got no business here

**Author's Note:**

> yo hi ok. this is purposefully written in all lower-caps. it's a stylistic choice. i feel like elliot would use all lower caps. new aesthetic.

i did not want to be here.

 

yet i'm here, sweaty and slightly drunk, the thick air both musty and sweet, choking his over sensitized nose. the throngs of people on the floor moved slight and slow, mimicking the beats of the song that was blaring, the bass edited to perfection, the vibrations making the grains of salt that circled the rim of my drink fall into the cracks of the weathered bar.  i’d only come here at Darlene’s request, trying to make up for the months i was stuck in my own head. and i was really stuck.

 

it was her birthday. i had happily bought a small cake, [my quick and sharp handwriting was apparently indecipherable to the cake shop owners, because they’d misspelled her name] and a few under inflated balloons, and we stayed in with the gross chinese takeout from the store next door and i listened to her stories about how she’d managed to install a keylogger on her ex-boyfriend’s vanilla laptop [even though she swears she’s over him, and i could care less about the guys my sister gets with]. yet even after we watched her favorite shitty horror film trilogy, and downed a few shots each, she claimed she was unsatisfied with the day. “but the cake was _good_ man, don’t sweat it.” she claimed to me, like my feelings would be hurt if she hadn't.

 

she had always been the type to want to party in abandoned warehouses out in brooklyn, and tonight, her special night, was no different. and me, the perfect brother, always wanting desperately to make her happy, let myself be dragged onto the only running f train, and to a warehouse i swear could've doubled as a squatters’ den during the day. which made me think about the multiple twenty dollar bills in my back pocket, and the amount of morphine that was so rare in manhattan, but so plentiful here, and i felt myself actually salivate at the thought of dulling the disappointment i constantly felt [thanks, krista] , but _oh **no**  i was no addict_, and _oh **no**  i knew how to control myself_.

 

and that’s how i'd ended up here, at a shitty, rickety bar, old but clean and still shining, like something you’d steal from a rich family’s dumpster out in in the hamptons [honestly, this was how i found most of darlene’s birthday gifts as kids.]

 

the bits still stuck in the cracks remind me of my own drug of choice, and for a split second i wondered how bad this salt would burn my nostrils if i cut it right here and inhaled, ever so slightly, and then stronger, harder, so i could _taste_ it entering my capillaries.

 

oh no, i _was no addict_.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

it’d been **_hours_**. but darlene was nowhere to be found. she’d most likely fallen in bed with a greasy, drug-addicted loser, the only type she’d ever had.  h _appy birthday to her_.

 

i could almost laugh at my own judgmental thoughts, as if i weren’t a greasy drug addicted loser. whatever. i watched as the 7th person tonight pushed open the door i'd been keeping eyes on. i got closer. i shuffled to the dark door, and i knew from watching people open and enter all night, that they led to stairs that i also now knew reeked of both meth and weed. brooklyn wasn’t partial to just one crowd of drug users. i’d seen this door be pushed by people coming down from a high, and others looking to get on one for hours on end. but just 10 minutes ago, i had had seen someone under the haze of a high i was used to. one i'd been looking for. the girl had turned to look at me through the thick smoke that enveloped the room, and her dilated pupils were like a signal, _screaming_ **we can help you**.

 

i took the steps two at a time, until they led onto a land, to another floor, not as dark as the floor i'd just slipped from. and, _fuck_ did this place reek of professionalism.

 

there were shelves, shelves, and even more shelves, and there were people actually holding carts, browsing the various illegal drugs that lined them, as if it were the kale aisle in whole foods. and i couldn’t help but notice there was no morphine here. i'd come here for nothing.

it had taken a few minutes, but i did realize i was the only person in this room not shielding their faces with a mask or bandana. i was exposed. my insides and outsides were on display, hung out to dry for these people to pick at and sift through. i felt … _hacked_. the irony was not lost on me, the fact that these people were doing what i do best... **to me**. and with only their squinted eyes. no need for anonymity and tor, just the cold glaze of a drug haze, and i suddenly felt small.

 

who just shows their face like that? what if there are cameras?

 

_where was darlene?_

 

 

 

i lowered my head to turn and leave through the door i’d come through, out the rolling doors of the warehouse, back onto a train and into my apartment, where i’d probably lay awake all night, just waiting for someone to enter my IRC server with fresh images of blackmail. before i could even lift a foot, a hand landed softly on my back, small and flat. i spun around, seeing only the woman that had entered before, feeling my breath catch, my whole body ravage itself, seizing, bit by bit. _d_ _arlene_.

 

 

i had misinterpreted her high before. it wasn’t a dark morphine high, the type where you float amongst your own clouds for hours. it was a bad heroin high, the type where you crash hard, causing you to scramble for more, a sweet needle in the largest vein in your arm, an even sweeter one in your elbow crook, the most heavenly needle above your clavicle, nearing your jugular. everything was crashing. who was this. who was this. **_w_** ** _ho was this_**.

 

darlene did not do drugs. she didn't. i was so sure. but i _had_ been floating along for three months. had she gotten into drugs? had she? had she? had she? my eyes lolled at the thoughts i received in pairs of threes, and my mind was off the morphine. for now at least. yanking her into the hallway, i loosened my tight grip on her arm, shaking her slightly, moving that fog away from her pupils.

 

 

 

“darlene. _d_ _arlene_. are you in there?” i found myself saying, a half whine, half whimper. she smiled thickly, closing her eyes and humming an old song i couldn’t quite place. johnny flynn? me, not used to being the sibling that had to coax the other down from a high, took up her arm again, and pulled her out of that wretched party, catching sight of the drink i’d left on the bar, still perspiring, sweat rolling off the sides and staining the wood, dissolving the salt i was sure would’ve been stuck in those cracks forever.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

on the subway, i oddly cradled her head in my lap, trying to pet her deep brown hair. she’d fallen asleep and i would’ve too, the gentle hum of the train mixed with the lulling recording, reading off names of stops almost becoming too much for my heavy eyes.

 

instead i stayed awake, shocking myself by allowing darlene to continue sleeping on me. i finally felt like the protective big brother, and less like the anxious mess i usually felt like taking a train. i didn’t see them. the men in coats. they’d stayed away when i was off the morphine, and on the meds. was this reality? that had felt a lot more like reality.

 

we got off at 34th, the starkness of the train had shredded my nerves, and i didn’t mind propping darlene up against my shoulder, slinging her arm around my neck. she mumbled incoherently, and agreed to walk, although she kept her eyes closed. walking down park ave, i couldn’t help but sneer at the buildings that surrounded me, the corporate stench that filled me. i felt dirty just breathing this air. soon, i felt lights burning my brain, and unable to take the giant E that swam in my vision, i closed my eyes and stopped, leaning darlene up on a nearby bench [containing another advertisement for a new evil corp piece of trash], dialing the number for a taxi.

 

 

 

of course i had the taxi drop them blocks away from his apartment [i'm not stupid]. i started to struggle with just carrying my sister the 10 blocks, and up the stairs, into the hallway, while fishing around for the keys. laying her on the couch, i filled a glass with water from the tap, and awkwardly set it on the coffee table. i wasn’t sure how to handle someone coming down from a heroin high, of all things. how could she be so fucking stupid? _heroin_?

 

i was filling flipper’s food bowl, when i noticed darlene was drinking the water he’d left for her, and i mentally high fived myself. i'll never do that again, i promise. 

i shuffled into the room to she how she was doing, and suddenly, seeing the mark on her arm from where the needle had entered (the sweet spot in the elbow crook), i felt like chewing her out instead and really dug in.

 

“how could you be so stupid?”

 

“i know.”

 

“seriously darlene, this isn’t a joke. this isn’t a fucking joke! this is a serious thing!”

 

“i  _know._ ”

 

“this isn’t okay. you- you need to talk to me about this.” clearly, i was giving her hell. i was doing great. go me.

 

“I **_KNOW_**.” she hissed. her eyes were angrily focused on my side table, with contents including: 4 empty pill bottles, a credit card with the CVV and the number sanded off, and the glass of water i had left on the coffee table, but now nearly empty. “you wanna fucking talk about drugs, elliot? because we can fucking _talk about drugs_. you know, _if you want to_.”we stared at each other, in an angry silence, until i dropped my gaze to the floor. suddenly i wasn’t feeling so brave anymore.

 

“fuck it. it was a good day, elliot. thanks. whatever,  i guess. see you tomorrow.” and she was gone.

 

after she left, i slumped back in my computer chair, irc chat open, still fearing the worst – blackmail photos of me at that drug warehouse.

and i sat there all night long, twirling an empty prescription bottle in my left hand.

 

 


	2. i'm sorry if i seem uninterested

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> elliot likes showers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [i've kinda turned white rose into like a main villain so..]

i hadn’t slept at all last night. i’d stayed up all night, watching the screens i had set up in front of me. i could still feel the green letters burned into my eyes.

 

i’d gone for a walk, taking flipper like _she’d_ suggested. all those months ago. _you can’t get stuck again, elliot. not again._

 

everywhere i went, i feared i was making things up, my mind whirring faster and faster, churning out perfect copies of nightmares i’d suffered through, the men in dark suits constantly creeping up on me. i needed to be placated. i needed it. the sweet rush of the sour drug in my veins, that relaxed my muscles and made me go slack, belly full with pleasure. i felt like writhing under my own skin, the pressure behind my eyes, like my own mind was struggling to break free, the tell tale signs of withdrawal nestling into their place at the forefront of my cerebrum.

the air was choking me. i couldn’t be out here. i burst through the door of my building like i was a storm, come to destroy a town, and arriving at my door, i remembered i’d left my keys on the counter of the kitchen. the contents of my pocket where simple ; a small pin i’d taken out of darlene’s hair the night before, and a piece of damp cloth, pre-wet under the water from my sink faucet. kneeling before the door, i used my rudimentary lockpick and listened for the four small clicks before pushing the door open, flipper trotting hot on my heels.

 

i flopped onto my couch, and just as i let my guard down and closed my eyes, i remembered darlene’s curt exit last night. see you tomorrow. **shit**.

 

i’d never get any sleep, i realized on the train out to coney island.

 

 

* * *

 

 

fsociety. darlene forced my hand and i’d called a meeting to address the new threat in town. white rose. who is white rose. who is white rose?

 

it was weird to walk in here and know these people were gathered here because of me, and not … him. they’d never been here for him. he wasn’t their savior, their leader. he was a nobody. he was pulled off the street. he’d been watched. he stared at the room full of multitalented hackers and they gazed back, up to their fucking eyes with concern and bullshit. i couldn’t be here. i left, ignoring darlene’s fast footsteps behind me.

 

“what the fuck is going on with you?” she called, and i could feel the irritation in her voice. “elliot. is he talking to you again?” she said, so softly i could barely hear her. but i did. and i turned, anger coursing through my every vein. it’s so good to me, that anger. a natural high.

 

“fuck you, darlene. you can’t do that. you can’t fucking do that, just pin everything on..on…-“ “on what elliot? your mental illnesses? the ones you neglect? because that’s what’s at fault. what else should i do?” she said, eyes wide yet slacked, taking a few steps closer, which i took back.

 

“that’s my brain, darlene. and my brain is all i have.”

 

she didn’t follow me when i left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

i was alone, i was always so alone. my head hurt, and my hands were throbbing, my tongue thick and my mind delirious. i was spinning and drowning at the same time, and i didn’t know if i come back up for air. i was high off some high schooler’s homegrown weed, probably laced with some rave shit.

 

and now i was laid amongst some garbage bags full of crap, in some alleyway. it was dark and cold, and the ground was wet. touching my hair, i realized it’d rained. it’d rained, and i was stuck next to a dumpster behind a greasy all night diner, and no one had come looking for me. a nobody.

 

 

the diner’s interior was warm, and i felt dirty and embarrassed to be in the presence of such normal people. i took a corner booth and a young waitress (who wrinkled her nose when she came near) poured me out a black coffee. i stirred it absentmindedly, watching a family of 3 in a booth across the aisle. how happy they seemed, the parents arguing in hushed but sharp whispers, as the small girl played a game on an tablet. corporate greed strikes again. this girl would never know the pain that resided in her fake family like i did.  i knew more about her parents than she did, just because i didn’t have evil corp brand headphones in.

 

i felt someone hovering over my booth, and could hear the _whooshing_ of their breath, hot near my hands i held down my hood with. they sat, and the pleather of the seat squelched beneath them. a pale hand pushed the coffee to the side, and placed a small blue tablet in its place. my breath stopped, and my body went into overdrive, a sheen of cold sweat layering my forehead.

 

“who _are_ you?” i ululated, voice strained and cracking. i got no answer. all i got was a pale hand, sliding me something again, but this time it being the petal of a rose, dyed a clean white.

 

it all happened so quickly. i jerked my head up, but he was leaving, a man in a clean suit quickly pulling a black mask down over a shock of blond hair. and by the time i got outside, he’d disappeared.

 

 

 

 

crying, i made my way back into my apartment. why was i crying? why? _why_? i couldn’t see. too many tears. i felt like i could drown. i felt so alone. so alone. it was now i remembered what song darlene had been humming. the water, johnny flynn. i was right. and that made me cry more and i didn’t fucking know _why_. i made a strangled noise, simultaneously sniffing hard, and i heard a noise from out in the hallway. and of course darlene walked in, and asked no questions, walking slow, coming to sit next to me, knowing not to touch me, and she just let me cry. and when i was finished, she said nothing, and pulled a pillow and a thin sheet out of my linen closet, fixing herself a makeshift bed.

 

this is what she did when she found me like this. too risky to leave me alone.  i waited until i heard her breath slow and even, and i reached for the pocket of my jacket, my fingers toying with the morphine and the petal.

 

i couldn’t tell her i’d encountered him. i couldn’t tell her i’d let him leave so easily, that i was off my game, that i’d slept amongst garbage. although she’d probably figured out that last part.

 

slipping out of my clothes in the bathroom, i stood in the shower and scrubbed my whole body pink and raw, too clean. the water was hot and it stung, but i liked the pain. deserved it. i was too weak to move, the water was scorching and i was just so tired. my stomach hurt and i retched until i was just dry heaving, my throrat  on fire, too weak to even stand anymore. i probably passed out on the shower floor. i could just barely make out darlene’s voice the next morning, my eyes too heavy and my ears too uncaring. i didn’t care. “go away.” i rasped, voice still grossly covered in tears.

 

“you have to get out here, elliot.” she sighed, sadly, with an edge of fear. i bet she’d thought i was dead or something. was probably only upset because without me there was no way fsociety could get a dark army link. that’s all i was to her. a hacker. a nobody.

 

when i didn’t respond, she reached in and turned the water to cold. i jumped up half-pissed yet half-happy she cared enough to wet her hands. “what the fuck?” i angered, and turned it off completely, reaching for the towel her hand was now pushing in.

 

“get up. eat something. walk your fucking dog.” and the bathroom door slammed, the fog that amassed overnight stirring, my ears ringing.


End file.
